Set Among the Stars
by StarzAngelus
Summary: A collection of Captain Swan drabbles inspired by prompts submitted on Tumblr.
1. Under the Rain

**#30: Under the Rain**

She shuddered, feeling his cool fingers slide gently against her skin. Slowly, almost reverently, he lifted her shirt, exposing the smooth expanse of hers stomach.

"Killian, please…"

"Shh," and his mouth covered hers once again.

Their lips bruised against one another, tongues tangling for dominance, as the rivulets of water ran freely across their face. Their rain-slicked bodies were crushed against each other, pressing together with urgency, becoming one. The witch was dead, everyone was safe, and for a moment, this one moment, she would have this, grasp it with her fingertips and never let it go.

It didn't matter that they were out in the open, that the ominous clouds were streaked with lightning, the electricity cackling in the air, that the bark against her back pushed painfully against her cuts, or that they could be discovered at any moment. None of it mattered. They were here and they were now and she could finally breathe him in, take up his essence, bottle it up inside her heart and treasure it until the end of time.

After an eternity, where Emma wasn't sure if she would ever feel her limbs again, he looked up, gazing into her eyes, beseeching and tender. "Tell me what you need, Swan."

Emma was never one to express herself fully with words, preferring to show with actions what she wanted to say. She took his head between her hands, bringing it gently to her breast and whispered, "I want you, only you."

A flash of lightning illuminated the sky, as if confirming the truth of her words, and the thunder that followed seemed to affirm the trembling of their aching bodies. As clothes were shed and lips were met, as wandering hands discovered new places and bodies finally joined, as the earth moved and the ground shuddered, the rain fell.


	2. Breaking the Rules

**#50: Breaking the Rules**

Slap.

"Now wait one minute. None of them were face cards."

"Yeah, but it's a sandwich. See?"

"Oh, hell."

"I told you, sandwiches and doubles are fair game, too."

"You're making it up as you go along, Swan."

"I am not."

"You're winning anyway, I don't see why continue to try to best me."

"Just shut up and put your cards down."

The game continued. The occasional slap and snicker permeating the air as Emma laughed when he would lose more of his cards. He would pout childishly and she would lean over and kiss him, despite knowing that he was doing it on purpose. After a while, when Emma had accumulated almost most of the deck, he made a comeback, slowly gaining back the cards until they were almost even again.

"It seems your luck has changed, Captain."

He grinned back at her. "It seems it has."

Her stack continued to get smaller and smaller and irritation began to grow bigger and bigger, and—Emma was not one to brag—but she was an excellent card player and there was no way that she was going to let someone who had learned the game only an hour ago beat her.

She put more force into her slaps, more speed as she placed her card down, but still, almost every time he put a card down, she would place a single card of her own and—

Oh, hell no.

"Hook! You cheated!" she screeched, poking him hard in the chest.

His face was the perfect picture of absolute innocence. "My darling Swan, you wound me."

"You bastard! You keep using the same card! You just used the Jack five times in a row! That's impossible!"

He grinned, waggling his eyebrows and waving his hook in front of his face."Pirate."


	3. Safety First

**#97: Safety First (Captain Cobra)**

"Ramen noodles? What the blazes are Ramen noodles?"

Henry sighed, wondering if he would have to go into the twentieth reiteration of why certain foods came in more than one brand. "They are a type of noodle. They are pre-made and easy to cook."

"Soup is already easy to prepare," Hook said, eyeing the packages with distaste.

"They are good, I promise. Mom said she wanted ten. Get the beef and chicken. No, that's shrimp-flavored. Yes, the red ones. Okay. What's next on the list?"

"Tampons."

The elderly lady standing next to them frowned at Hook, shook her head and walked away, nose in air.

"Huh," Henry said. "Then to the women's aisle we go."

Hook, despite protests from Henry, pushed the cart, weaving easily between customers and aisles. They approached the feminine aisle and the other-worldly pirate stared at the boxes and packages in wonder, occasionally reading out the brand names. Always, Stayfree…

Henry placed a large pack of tampons into the cart, startling Hook out of his reverie. He gazed at the (still) leather-clad pirate in contemplation, eventually coming to a decision.

"Follow me," Henry commanded, leading them both to the end of aisle where a collection of colorful boxes decorated the tall shelves. He read the titles thoroughly, occasionally picking a box and reading the description on the back, until finally settling on a black pack with gold lettering. He placed the box in the cart.

"Uh, what are these?" Hook asked, gingerly picking up the box. "Trojan?"

A couple nearby snickered. Henry rolled his eyes.

"They're condoms," Henry said, as if that explained everything.

"Condoms?" Hook raised a very confused eyebrow.

Henry stared at Hook for several moments, head cocked in the way that he knew made him look exactly like Emma and David. "You don't use condoms?" he asked, eyes wide in disbelief.

"I have never heard of them, young lad."

"But you and my mom. I mean, don't you guys have sex?" Henry blurted out loud, gaining the attention of several customers in the vicinity.

Hook shuffled his feet, eyes wide, and cheeks turning a very bright shade of pink.

"Are you blushing?"

"No!"

"Yes you are!"

"Lower your voice!"

"You've been sleeping with my mom and don't use protection?" Henry whispered.

"Look, lad," Hook whispered back, trying to ignore the lingering looks of the customers. "I am not sure you are old enough to discuss—"

"I'm twelve, Hook, not stupid. Are you telling me that you didn't know about sex at my age? Plus, I know that you and my mom sleep together. You stay over all the time! I know how to put two and two together."

Hook sighed, resigned, and looked bashfully down at his hook. "And are you okay with that? Does it bother you?"

"What?" Henry asked, and then he understood. "No, of course it doesn't bother me. You and my mom love each other."

"I am relieved, Henry. Thank you."

"No problem. Now let's go home."

As they walked out of the grocery store, hands filled with bags, Hook looked down at the young boy that considered like a son and asked, "These condoms that we bought… what are they for?"

Henry grinned. "You know what they say, Captain. Safety first."


	4. Stars

**#34: Stars**

The room was silent, save for the small, quick breaths of the occupant sleeping peacefully.

"Are you sure he will be all right? What if we don't—"

"It will be fine. He sleeps a full five hours now. And this—" she lifted the small device she tried to explain to him earlier, "—will tell us if he wakes up."

"Walkie talkie," he said, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"Baby monitor. But the same concept, yes."

"I don't know, Emma. I would feel more comfortable if he—"

"Oh god, Killian he is our son and is perfectly able to sleep by himself. Plus," Emma whispered, lips grazing his ear. "I will make it worth your while."

She felt more than saw him grin. "Is that so?"

"Mhmm."

"So you're saying that we can finally…"

"Yep."

"Then who am I to deny the lady?"

"Come on, pirate. Time to search for some hidden treasure."

"Oooh…"

Bending over to kiss their son goodnight, he grabbed her hand and practically dragged her to the door. They were giggling like schoolchildren and she stopped him before he could pull past the door-frame.

"Wait. Let me turn off the light."

As Emma flipped down the switch, looking at Killian out of the corner of her eye to gauge his reaction, she watched with fascination as his fiercely expressive eyes grew wide with wonder.

"This is… how did…"

"Henry helped me place them the other day. He knows all about navigation now, thanks to you, and he has this idea that he wants to be an astronaut now. Funny, really, considering that he has literally traveled through the stars."

"It's beautiful, Emma."

"I know," she said, unable to look away from him. The ceiling to their son's bedroom was filled to the brim with glow-in-the-dark stars, positioned as accurately as possible to display the major constellations of an autumn sky in the Northern Hemisphere. They varied in shape and size and for a moment, Emma forgot she was on Earth and not floating through the heavens.

"I thought that him being your son and all, he would appreciate what his father loves."

He looked away and gazed down at his wife's face, eyes shiny with unshed tears. "I love you, Emma. More than there are stars in the sky."

She pressed a kiss to his lips. "I love you, too."


	5. Can You Hear Me?

**#82: Can You Hear Me? (Captain Charming)**

"Hello? Hook? Come on! Wake up!"

"Wuh…"

"Hook? Hey, Hook! Can you hear me?"

There was a slight tingling on his face as he felt a warm hand slap him repeatedly. The voice was hazy yet familiar but the darkness was so much more pleasant and the back of his head was killing him…

"Honest to god, Hook, if you don't open your eyes, I will kill you."

"Guhhh."

"Goddammit, Hook! I am not playing! Get up!"

The rousing scent of alcohol filled his nose and then the cold sting of water hit him right in the face and he opened his eyes…

"Seven buggering hells! What the fuck!"

David loomed over him, blue eyes glaring at him in contempt. "Really? Dreaded pirate captain for over three hundred years and at the sight of a little cervical blood you pass out?"

He had no idea what the prince was talking about. "What?"

David rolled his eyes. "Do you remember why you're here, Hook?" he asked slowly, as if talking to a small child. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Take a moment and think about the last thing that happened before you swooned like a princess and clocked your head on the bed frame."

And then he heard it, the faint wails of a child… Oh, gods… Emma…

With a burst of adrenaline, he rose from the floor quickly… and then hit his head against the metal frame… again… dropping coldly back down to the floor.

David groaned, shaking his head at his son-in-law who was on his back in hospital scrubs, looking dead to the world. He stood up and looked fondly at Emma, and then at his newborn granddaughter. "I am so sorry, my princess, but your father is an idiot."

The baby cried harder.


	6. Tears

**#26: Tears**

Emma watches the broad line of his chest rise up and down, the gentle curve of his Adam's apple bob back and forth, the graceful arches of his lips open and close as he murmurs sweet nothings into the stillness. The soft glow of the moonlight filters sensually through the curtains, illuminating his handsome features and she sighs wistfully.

Another tear glides down his cheek and she wipes it away tenderly.

The music ends and he opens his eyes, removing the headphones from inside his ears, and he smiles down at her in awe. "That was wonderful," he says in a dazed wonder.

She nods and places the iPod down on the coffee table. "I thought you would like it. I'm more of a rock and pop girl myself but I like a little bit of everything."

"Do you have more?"

"I can get more."

"I would like that."

"Come on," she says, tugging him up from the couch. "Time for bed."

* * *

(The piece he is listening to is Chopin's "Nocturne, opus 27, no. 2")


	7. In the Storm

**#96: In the Storm**

"Are you kidding me? No way! It will kill us!"

"It is the only way, Swan! Trust me!"

"It's a goddamn tornado!"

"It is a portal, I assure you!"

The dark swirling vortex loomed closer, ripping apart every structure in its path down to the foundation, debris flying about wildly. It was thick, about half-mile wide, snaking ominously into the strangely white sky.

Emma cringed back in fear. "Hell no."

Hook squeezed her hand in assurance. He looked down at her and gave her a hesitant smile. "Do you trust me?"

She didn't even blink. "I trust you."

"Then when I tell you jump, you jump, all right?"

Emma swallowed, bright eyes wide and anxious. "Okay."

He nodded back kindly.

Their hair and clothing whipped around them in a wild frenzy and Emma began to feel her feet rising from the ground. She tried desperately not to panic. "Oh, how I wish I had the power to control the weather right now!"

Hook grinned down at her and Emma wondered for a moment if he was insane. "There is a witch in a faraway kingdom who possesses such a power! It was a bloody marvel to watch! The entire female line of the royal family are blessed with the ability to manipulate the weather!"

"So like Storm from the X-Men?" she shouted back.

"What?"

"Nevermind!"

The twister drew closer. They barely managed to stand upright.

"This is it!" Hook yelled, gripping her hand firmly. "Get ready!"

"I'm ready!"

"Jump!"

Emma drew in a deep breath, and jumped.


	8. Tower

**#54: Tower**

"You are very pretty, my darling."

"I am not your darling, you barmy wench."

"Oh, I do believe you are," she said coldly, running a sharpened, ruby nail down his chest, enough to draw blood. "You are mine until I say that you aren't." She tugged at the chains around his neck and twirled them until they choked him. "Tell me,Captain, where are they keeping the boy?"

Her voice was sickly sweet, almost soothing to the normal ear, but he recognized the predator behind the sound, the feral animal caged in before it was released for the hunt. He had been a hunter for over three hundred years and understood the patience required for such a feat.

"I have already told you. I have no idea where the boy is. Has your unnatural pallor made you dense as well?"

She slapped him across the face with enough force that the chains around his wrists and waist loosened from the stone wall behind him. He spit blood on to the ground harshly and glared back at her as defiantly as he could, head lolling back and forth against the wall.

She smiled back cruelly. "I won't ask again."

"And my answer shall remain unchanged."

She conjured his hook out of thin air and waved it casually in front of his face. "You know, I have always wondered what a man of honor, such as yourself, is made of." She glided the hook down his stomach, tearing his clothing. "I would hate to make such a rash decision."

"Really?" he asked scathingly. "You could have fooled me."

"Your sarcasm is rather grating, Captain."

"I could recite a monologue of what grates me about you, sodding witch."

He screamed in agony, writhing futilely against his chains as she dug his hook into his shoulder and twisted it until it was pierced all the way through, the point embedded into the wall. He panted in uncontrolled gasps, trying desperately to retain consciousness as his sight blackened around the edges.

"That was impolite, my pretty Captain," she said sweetly into his ear. She licked it and he shuddered with disgust, retching and choking on his own blood. "I guess I'll just have to kill you. What a shame."

She yanked his bloody hook out of his shoulder and then brought it to her mouth and licked it. "Tastes good." She raised it into the air and stared deeply into his eyes. She giggled and it rang painfully across the tower. "It is a pity."

He closed his eyes, waiting for the fatal blow, trying to conjure one final image in his mind: one of bright green eyes with a small smile and golden hair…

"Back away from him, bitch, or I will end you."

And then there she was, standing resplendent in her red leather jacket, sword held firmly in her hand, and brilliant eyes furious and wrathful. She was absolutely stunning and his barely beating heart skipped a joyful beat. He knew she would find him. "Swan…"

The witch stood up in all her regal and wicked glory and laughed loudly. "Oh please, as if you could make it close enough to graze me."

Emma cocked her head to the side and to his amazement, smiled. "No, but this can."

With the speed that could have rivaled that of his beloved ship, she whipped out her pistol and aimed it at the Wicked Witch.

The single shot that echoed throughout the tower was music to his ears.


	9. Seeking Solace

**#5: Seeking Solace**

"Papa."

Killian came to awareness wearily, eyes blinking into the darkness. A small hand tugged at his harm insistently.

"Papa, please wake up."

In an instant he was sitting upright in the bed, covers falling to his waist and he grasped the small shoulders in front of him. "Liam? What's wrong? What happened?"

Terrified blue eyes stared back at him. "I'm scared, Papa."

Now with the traces of sleep cleared away, he was alert and on guard, surveying his surroundings and keeping an open ear to the darkness. Behind him, he heard the gentle breaths of his wife and his tension eased. He looked down at his son in puzzlement. "What's wrong, Liam?"

Liam bit his lip, nostrils flaring in the way Killian knew he was trying to hold back his tears. "Can you come to my room?"

Killian sighed in relief. It was probably a nightmare. Liam was nearly eight but the terrors of a nightmare haunted at all ages. "Of course."

Taking him by the hand, he led his son back to his room and they sat gently on the bed. Liam tugged at the hem of his blanket, frowning and occasionally taking deep, shuddering breaths.

"Do you want to talk about it? Sometimes it helps if you talk about it. Dreams can be quite cruel if you allow them to fester in your mind."

Liam shook his head and sighed. "No, it's not that."

"Then what is it?" Killian asked, forehead crinkled in confusion.

"I don't feel good."

Killian pressed a hand to his son's forehead. "You do feel a bit warm. Are you hurting anywhere?"

Turning away in embarrassment, Liam nodded. "My stomach. I feel… I feel like I'm going to be sick and I don't like it. I want it to go away."

"Well, sometimes it helps if you do—"

"No, no! I don't want to! I hate being sick!"

"Shh! Shh! You'll wake your mum and your sisters," he said, running a soothing hand through his son's hair. "It will be okay."

Liam burst into tears, lips trembling and eyes wide with fear. "Can you just stay with me, just in case? I'm scared. I don't want to be alone."

Killian smiled, nodding in understanding. He wrapped his arms around his son, hugging him to his chest. "Aye, Liam. I'll stay."


	10. Rejection

**#60: Rejection**

"Bloody wench!"

"Oh my god, Killian, she's thirteen years old! You can't call a little girl that!"

"I don't care, Emma! Did you see his face? Did you? He is heartbroken. He bared his soul and she laughed at his face!"

"They're kids, Killian. Kids say and do stupid things."

"By that age, one should have the civility to carry polite conversation. She didn't have to be so tactless!"

Emma sighed. They sat in the living room, trying to ignore the pounding feet that echoed from upstairs. "I agree but she is still a little girl. We can't expect her to react rationally."

Killian rolled his eyes and then sighed. "I just don't understand how she could lack the simple decency to reject him gently. Very bad form."

Emma smiled, reaching out to twine her fingers with his. "Well, not everyone can be so honorable. It takes many years of work to build such character."

He snorted but said nothing, eyeing the ceiling warily as another stomp was heard.

"He'll be okay, you know."

"I know." He cocked his head at her and grinned. "Our lad is a brave one. Brilliant like his mother and handsome like his father. The lass was blind. Spitting image of his father, our son is. How could anyone resist?"

Emma rolled her eyes. "And just as charming, I'm sure."

"Aye," he said, kissing her temple gently. "Just like his mother."


	11. Happiness

**#29: Happiness**

"There now, lad. Just a whiff, you see… that does it… right under the nose… Now, what is it you smell?"

"I don't smell anything."

"Bah! Nonsense! The candle does not lie! It is you who must see. Close your eyes and try again… what do you smell?"

"I smell… it smells like… It smells like leather. And flowers."

"Hmmm… What kind of flowers?"

He frowned, forehead creased under dark, messy bangs. "I don't really know. I think they smell like those," he said, pointing to a bunch of white flowers.

"Ah, those be jasmine. Relaxing scent. Flowery, you might say." She chuckled but it sounded like a cackle. He didn't like it. "What else do you smell?" she prodded, pressing the candle closer to him.

He scrunched his nose. "I don't know what that is. It smells so odd. I have never smelled it before. But it also," he took a quick sniff, "smells like sugar? No… like cinnamon. I'm not sure. It's sweet and bitter at the same time."

"Hmmm," she said, raising a thin eyebrow. "Anything else?"

This time, he took a deep breath. "It smells very… I'm not sure. I can't describe it, but it reminds me of my brother. I don't know what that means."

"That makes sense," the woman said, but he didn't understand at all. She was very old, older than Mrs. Thornton even, with white scraggly hair and a very pointed nose and was dressed in a long, red dress that clung to her loosely. He didn't like her and he wanted to go away but she had beckoned him over to her stand and told him she would give him a gift. He had yet to receive anything and now he was getting annoyed.

"I have to go," he said, and it was true. They had been at port for two days now and the ship was set to leave at noon. His brother had recently been promoted to Naval Lieutenant and had procured him a job on the ship as a cabin boy. He wasn't sure if he wanted to live on a ship but it was better than living on the streets and at least he could now be with Liam.

"I hope you enjoyed my gift, Killian," the woman said, smiling widely, showing her large, luminous white teeth.

Killian's eyes widened in disbelief. "H-how did you know my name?"

"I know many things," she replied cryptically.

"Are you a psychic?

"I see things."

"Like the future?"

"Something like that."

He gawked at her, bewildered. What if she was a witch? He was intrigued but Liam always said that people who claimed to have magic were nothing but charlatans. Killian wasn't so sure. "I must be on my way, then. Thank you for…" he gestured wildly at the candle. "Thank you."

He turned around and began to walk through the market stands quickly, gaining as much distance from the strange lady as possible.

When he finally reached the docks, he gazed at the grand ship that would now be his new home. It was not one of the more bigger ships he had ever seen but it was elegant and beautiful and it belonged to the Royal Navy.

As he stepped on to the ship, nodding sagely at the crewmen, the woman's words whispered inexplicably through his mind…

_"Boy, would you like to know what your happiness smells like?"_


	12. Family

#46: Family

"You have nothing. You have no one. You are _nothing_," he sneered, breath rank and puffing hotly against his face."You killed your mother and your brother. And what's her name? Malia? Mala? That tavern wench you fancied yourself in love with. You killed her, too. Everything you touch dies, Killian." He spit at the ground, as if cursing it. "You are nothing."

Killian stood stock-still, good hand at the helm in a death grip, glaring with hatred at the man in front of him. It was like looking in a mirror: clear blue irises that seemed to penetrate to the soul, dark hair and muscular build, imposing stature that commanded presence wherever it saw fit. Even the crinkling around the eyes was the same… Yet, the eyes—though identical in color—were the marked difference: one pair were cold and without depth, and the other full of passion and rage.

"Get… off… _my_… ship," Killian gritted through clenched teeth. "Or I will throw you off it."

The man grinned widely, and Killian was shocked at how familiar the expression was. Beside him he heard a shocked gasp.

"Hook," Emma said gently, tugging at his bad arm and grasping his hook fiercely. "You know that's not true."

The man cocked his head, letting his eyes roam over her form in appreciation. "Quite the treasure you found there, son."

"I am not your son!" Killian snapped back, now seething with unconstrained fury. He unsheathed his sword and raised it at the man's throat. "Now get the hell off my ship!"

"Are you going to kill me, son? The way you killed your mother? Barely out of the womb and you murder the woman who gave you life, the woman that I loved! My life! And now you seek to kill me, too, because that is what you are, Killian! You are nothing but a killer!"

He didn't see at first (because by then he had been blinded by rage, and his vision had turned nearly black) but suddenly his sword was by his side as he stumbled slightly backward into a broad, sturdy chest, and then an arm came from behind and steadied him.

"Relax, Hook," a deep voice said near his ear. "Just breathe."

He was so stunned that he failed to notice how Emma had placed herself in front of him, blocking him from the man… _his father._

"Ah, so she has claws," his father said, eyeing the gun pointed at his face. "I can see why you like her." He licked his lips lasciviously. "Very good form, my son."

Killian tried to move forward but David's hand on his shoulder held him firmly in place. "You shut your filthy mouth!"

"No," Emma said, cocking her gun more securely. "It's okay. Let him finish. I would like to see how far he gets before my bullet make it through his head."

The man tilted his head back and laughed uproariously. "Oh, this is precious!" He gazed back at Killian, eyes glittering with cruel mirth. "Letting your whore fight your battles, now, son? How pathetic."

"Shut the fu—"

"He's just goading you, Hook," Emma interrupted, voice clear and calm. "He's trying to get a rise out of you. He thinks he's being clever and that by pushing all your buttons he can get you to attack him first. It's really quite juvenile. And…_pathetic._"

His father's entire demeanor changed, and for the first time, Killian felt afraid as the man who he had spent centuries hating for abandoning him stepped forward to stand face-to-face with the woman that Killian loved.

"You would defend him, that miserable excuse of a man? Do not let his angelic face deceive you, love," the man said, spittle flying at her face. "Behind the nicefaçade lies the demon. A black soul full of wrath that it taints the very air it breathes until it suffocates you and then you die, too." He turned glaring eyes at Killian. "If you knew of his sins, you would not be so keen to—"

"I know what he's done," Emma replied, tone bored and impatient. "Please skip the stupid 'I'm a villain' monologue and get to your damn point because my finger is getting slippery."

His father gazed back at her, surprised, appraising her. "Now that is interesting," he said, and Killian thought he heard genuine fear in his voice. "You really would defend him, wouldn't you?"

"I would."

"Fight for him? Die, perhaps?"

Killian bristled. David's hand tightened, still attached to his shoulder.

"Yes," Emma replied without hesitation. "That's what friends do." She looked back at Killian and then at her father with a tight smile. "That's what family does." She looked back at his father and he heard the sound of the safety click off. "Now get the fuck off his ship."


	13. Cookies

**#20: Cookies**

"It's under _Tools._ Yes, right there. Make sure the temporary internet files, download history, and cookies boxes are checked—but not passwords, don't click that one—and then press delete."

Killian frowned, checking the appropriate boxes and then turning a wary eye toward Henry. "Cookies?" he asked.

"Yeah," Henry replied, not looking up from his game console.

Killian sighed. _Adolescence_, he thought thought irritably, glaring at the now 15-year-old boy. "Could you please elaborate?" he enunciated slowly, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. "I fail to see what a sugary delicacy has to do with… whatever it is you had me doing."

Henry didn't bother to look up. "You were clearing your browsing history. Every time you go online—you know, the internet—the computer records what websites you visit. It helps clear the clutter from the pc and frees more space. I don't exactly know what cookies are but I know they help websites recognize who you are."

He understood about half of what Henry said but shrugged, figuring there was no more point in continuing the conversation. He studied the screen to make sure he had followed Henry's instructions and finally pressed "Delete."

"Hey!" a voice called from the kitchen. "Dinner is ready!"

He stood, pushing the "sleep mode" button on the side of the monitor (apparently machines _slept;_ Killian didn't even know that they were _alive_) and walked to the dining room where he proceeded to set the table.

Emma stood by the stove, nose in the air with eyes closed. "Mmm," she said, sniffing. "I haven't had spaghetti in weeks."

"Smells good," he said, smiling gently. "The bread on the other hand…" he gestured to the basket on the counter, filled to the brim with blackened, scorched bread.

"Shut up. I'm cooking, aren't I? Be thankful."

"I am always thankful," he replied cheekily, sidling up to her and kissing her nose. "Thankful that I know how to prepare meals."

"Haha," she said, punching him in his side and making him wince. "You think you can do everything, don't you?"

"Almost. I have yet to master that computer device but soon…" he glared at the console sitting mockingly in the living room. "Soon."

"What did you learn this time?"

"How to open new tabs!" he gushed excitedly, unable to contain himself. Emma stifled her laugh behind a hand. "I had the computer conjuring multiple windows for weeks… _Weeks_, Emma. It was very disconcerting navigating through that, worse than a bloody storm!" He paused, pouring himself a glass of water. "I also know how to delete my _browsing history_ now, whatever that is."_  
_

"Really? That's inter—"

"I taught him," Henry interrupted, eyes still glued to his game. "You know, so he can hide his porn from you."

Killian choked on his water. "My what?"


	14. Deep

**Drabble Prompt: Deep**

"But how deep is it? I can't see the bottom, Liam! Does it terrify you?"

Liam chuckles, running a rough hand through his younger brother's unruly locks. "A bit, to be honest. In some places, the sea is but a few feet in depth and in others even a few leagues, maybe more. But worry not, Killian, Her Royal Majesty's navy is the best in all the realms. I will be safe."

Killian purses his lips, scrunching his small face in thought, sweeping worried eyes across the dock. "Why doesn't papa ever come? He always keeps to his room or his study and it is either you or Miss Kipling who takes me to town." He picks at the splinters sticking out of the railing, flicking the pieces into the water. He frowns. "If I tell you something, Liam, will you keep it a secret?"

"Of course," Liam replies, smiling gently despite the debilitating worry building in his stomach. Killian is now old enough to understand the intricacies of their small household, especially in regards to their cruel father, but he had promised their late mother to have Killian happy and ignorant of their troubles, even if it meant lying to him. Every day, the promise becomes harder and harder to keep. "You can tell me anything, little brother."

Killian takes a deep breath and lets it swoosh out dramatically. Always with the theatrics, Liam thinks amusingly. He wonders if the young boy will grow up to an actor or a playwright.

"You have not been home—not very much—since you have gone to Wilton—"

"Killian, please don't—"

"No," Killian interrupts, placing his hand on his brother's arm and turning worried, bright blue eyes into his own. "I understand! I know that in a few years, papa will send me there, too, but that isn't what I meant! Please believe me!"

"I—" Liam says, giving his brother a small and reassuring smile. "Go on."

"As I was saying," Killian continues in that way that only children can do, dismissing a disruption as if it were nothing. "You shall be gone in a few weeks, sailing the seas and being brave, and it occurred to me that I will be completely alone. Miss Kipling is my friend—she always insists that she is! It is very irritating! But she is just our governess and papa _pays_ for her to stay and it doesn't always feel… you know…"

"Sincere?"

"Yes! That is the word! _Sincere. _Were Miss Kipling here to hear me now. Silly woman. She insists on making me a gentleman but I hate it, Liam, I really do. Did you know that she calls me 'young prince?' Yes, she does. I told her that it was folly, even though mama had noble blood, but she continues to call me that anyway. I think she does it to mock me. She says that one day I will have many admirers and then marry a princess, so I hid all of her books and you know that stupid quill of hers? The one with the purple feather?"

"Ah, yes. The one that was given to her by a great sorcerer." Liam chuckles lightly.

Killian huffs, rolling his eyes in annoyance. "So she says. I think she embellishes everything." He pauses, looking down at small fingers, clenching them tightly on the railing. "I don't _hate_ Miss Kipling but it is not the same, you see. Papa ignores me, Miss Kipling feels sorry for me, and you—you'll be gone. I will have no one except the characters in my books, and even they only last a brief time and are not even _real_."

Liam shuts his eyes, breathing slowly, remembering the soft words of their mother as the creeping pallor of death seeped through her skin slowly. "Little brother—"

"I went into his study," Killian says before Liam can reassure him. "I know that I shouldn't have. I know that it is forbidden but I am ten years old now, no longer a child and do not think that I'm not aware that you and everyone else keep secrets from me. Miss Kipling tells me that I am the most intelligent boy she has ever tutored and I believe her, Liam, because I've seen your marks and I read the books you leave behind when you visit and I understand them perfectly. I know that papa cannot stand the sight of me and wishes he could send me away like you."

"Killian, that isn't true!"

"Isn't it?" Killian shouts back, ignorant of the deck hands eyeing them curiously. "You think I don't remember her but I do. She had hair like the sun and eyes like the sea. She had a beautiful voice and she used to sing to me every night before I went to sleep. I remember her, Liam, I really do." He swallows, and Liam his horrified to see his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I thought I had forgotten her, too, until I saw her. You knew, didn't you? That he keeps her behind that dreadful curtain? He covers her up, Liam! Hides her! Just how he hides me! And that's why he hates me! Because I took her away from him!" He slams his hands on the wooden beam and Liam can feel its tremor as if the Earth trembled before him. "Mama deserves better…. So I took her painting and put it in my room. It's hidden behind the bookcase because I was scared that papa would see. And now I have covered her, too."

He begins to cry in large, sputtering sobs and Liam is immobilized by the sheer intensity of it. It is the stark difference between the two brothers, whereas Liam is often cool and collected and very careful of appearances, Killian is open and blunt, pouring his heart into every little thing that strikes his fancy. It is with great effort that Liam finally manages to reach over to place a placating hand on his younger brother's back, rubbing small circles on the center of his spine. Killian's sniffles begin to subside before he suddenly stiffens, pulling away from Liam as if burned.

"Don't touch me!"

"Killian, please—" Liam begins but Killian has put several feet between them, a chilling void that he feels deep in his chest.

"Everyone leaves me," he hears Killian say as he walks away.

* * *

"Don't touch me!" she shouts, extricating herself from his arms and shuffling away from him across the dirt. They are in the forest where she sits, legs sprawled and helpless, and suddenly he feels foolish for following her. "Everything I touch turns to shit," she whispers and it echoes into his chest like daggers.

"I didn't mean it," she says, voice hard yet broken.

He frowns and it physically aches him to not reach out and touch her. "What do you mean?"

"Neal," she says, and even the earth stands still. "In Neverland—the cave… I told him—" She pauses and he finally notices that she is holding the swan necklace she had worn when he first met her. "I told him that I wished he was dead. It would have been easier than…" She sighs. "It would have been easier."

He swallows. He remembers. He had heard. The cave had made sure. "It's not your fault, Swan."

He sees her nod and then they are quiet, the sounds of the forest and small animals reverberating around them. The sun will set soon and the mourners have probably all gone home.

"Everyone leaves me," she suddenly says, startling him from the silence. "Everyone that loved me. Everyone that I loved. They have always left." She chuckles, dark and bitter, and it is both familiar and unfamiliar. "Except Henry. And I was the one that left _him_."

"I—" he stutters, trying valiantly to contradict her but it falls like ashes in his mouth. He breathes in, steeling himself because he knows that she knows. She _knows_. "I will never leave you, Swan."

Emma turns to him, lips pursed and brow furrowed. He thinks that no one has ever looked more beautiful.

"No," she says with soft eyes, lips trembling. "You won't."


	15. Blood

**#17: Blood**

He hovers over her, watching as her pupils dilate until only a faint ring of green fire is left in her eyes. Her mouth hangs open in an eternal gasp, lips cracked, the white edges catching eerily in the moonlight. Her fingers still clutch harshly at his throat and he knows that the imprint of her nails will remain for days. Slowly, and with great effort, he removes her hands, placing them delicately under her breastbone. He has the ridiculous urge to wipe the grime and sweat from her brow but instead shakes his head and removes a lock of golden hair from her cheek and positions it behind her ear.

She stares back at him, a crimson sheet growing around her in the dirt like a halo, and for one horrifying moment he feels regret and shame trickle into the depths hidden away in the place where he supposes his heart is.

"I must say, I am quite impressed, Captain," an amused voice calls out from behind the trees. "I didn't think you had it in you."

He grunts in response, standing roughly to his feet, good hand clutching the hilt of her sword as an anchor. The other end is buried perfectly into the center of her chest.

"I hope it was not too much trouble," the irritating voice continues. "She was beginning to be a particularly bothersome obstacle. With her out of the way, her mother will be easier to subdue." There is a pause and he turns to see the witch cock her head curiously. "Unless, you have a problem with that?"

He looks back at the figure on the ground, lifeless eyes piercing his own. He was told that this fiery woman was the fated and famed Savior that was destined to break the Dark Curse. After waiting for decades in a frozen grave, he feels almost grateful to her.

But he has come too far and waited too long for this and his Crocodile is only a portal away and a beautiful woman trying desperately to return to her son would not distract him from his ultimate goal. He didn't even know her name…

"No, Cora," he replies, removing the sword and turning away forever. "I have no problem."

He almost believes it.


	16. All That I Have

**#92: All That I Have**

_"So… you can join us and be a part of something, or you can do what you can do best and be alone."_

There is something almost poetic in her words that match uncannily to young Bae's even centuries later.

Bae. Bealfire. _Her_ son. It shouldn't surprise him that by some strange turn of fate Bae—_Neal_ is the father of the Savior's son but after years of witnessing the most curious events in various realms, it is quite surprising. And _fitting,_ if he thinks about it because if there is anything that Killian has learned after living the life of a ruthless pirate it is that the past never quite lets you go, no matter how far you run from it._  
_

It is a bitter realization to discover that fulfillment of a centuries-old revenge is _not_actually fulfilling. In fact, the feeling is quite similar to how he feels right now as he sails swiftly away from the soon-to-be-destroyed Storybrooke… minus the lingering feeling of guilt which is uncomfortably quite new. The truth is that he owes those people _nothing_and yet as the distance grows between the town and the _Jolly_, he feels invisible tendrils curling coldly up his spine until he is gripping the helm in an almost pathetic desperation lest he fall over in incomprehensible shame.

He looks at the odd bean in his hand and he sees flashes of visions, like lightnings of colors stabbing mercilessly at his mind. Bae swinging carelessly yet forcefully at his chest, screaming and begging him to fight back and then the look of betrayal on his face as he is lowered down the side of his ship with the Lost Boys. The Savior—_Emma_—arcing the sword awkwardly but with natural warrior-grace and then her crumbling face as she explains that the boy has just lost his father. And finally, Liam—lively and commanding, and then falling and lifeless._  
_

Killian has everything he needs and yet he has nothing and suddenly, like during those free days he had in the Naval Academy, he knows that somehow he must move forward, if not for himself then for someone else and then he is turning the wheel and praying and praying and praying that he isn't too late…

_"What the hell are you doing here?" _she asks in that blunt and to-the-point way he can't help but admire and if her disbelieving tone cuts him more than he lets on, then he stamps it down and tries to keep his tone casual.

_"Helping."_

Somehow—and he is afraid that he may know why—this is enough for her and she looks at him as if she were seeing him for the first time. It pleases him that he can do this for her (_and for him and for her_) and if he is honest with himself, he has an inkling of why but he isn't ready for that, not yet.

He has taken the first steps and perhaps it changes nothing but for now it is all he has.


	17. Introduction, Abandonment, Creation

**#1, #38, #47: Introduction, Abandonment, Creation**

"He looks like _Emma_."

"No, sweetheart. Look at those eyebrows and that jawline. Definitely his father's son."

"Look at his chin and his eyes. Trust me, David, he looks just like Emma when she was a baby, minus the dark hair."

"Are you serious right now, Snow?! He's like a clone of Killian!"

"Will you two shut up? The baby is sleeping!"

"Sorry, Regina," Mary Margaret mumbles, face red and contrite.

Regina glares at the irksome duo, reclining regally by the large window, sheer curtains allowing the morning sun to seep in, and newborn baby nestled snugly in her arms, the Charmings hovering protectively around her. She smirks. "And he looks like the pirate."

David raises his arms in silent triumph and smiles cheekily at his wife. "I told you," he mouths at her. Mary Margaret rolls her eyes.[[MORE]]

"Speaking of scoundrels, where is daddy dearest?" Regina asks eyeing the hospital room. Emma lies sleeping in the bed, exhausted after two days of labor, with Henry—the image of tall, gangly teenager—tucked comfortably at her side. She can't help the fond smile that forms on her own tired face. It is a situation that she had never pictured being part of: present at the birth of the grandchild of her former mortal enemy. The baby in her arms coos softly and she runs a manicured finger down his rosy cheek. He really is beautiful and despite the gentle tug in her chest for (another) newborn of her own, she thinks of all the misinformed bits of information that she's going to share with Hook and then sit back and enjoy the show…

"But really, where is Killian? He said he would be back soon," Mary Margaret asks worriedly, sitting on the arm of the chair. She reaches for the child's hand and allows him to squeeze her finger with his tiny own.

"I don't know," David replies and he looks pointedly at the door. "He was rather nervous earlier. Maybe he's just—"

As if on cue, the door opens and the pirate in question swaggers in dressed in garishly green hospital scrubs, a plate of bright red jello in his hand and a ridiculously large stuffed monkey under his left arm, shiny hook inexplicably in its place. How he managed to sneak it into the hospital, Regina can only begin to wonder. He is grinning widely—like an idiot, Regina thinks—and his mouth stretches even wider as his twinkling eyes settle the bundle in her arms and his face transforms into a mask of complete innocence. "Now, now, my malevolent queen. When I said that I would offer my firstborn child in exchange for—"

"Oh, shut up," she cuts in sharply as the baby whimpers sweetly in his slumber and she rocks him gently. "How this precious angel came from the either of you, I will never know."

"Genes," comes the tired reply from the bed. Regina turns to see Emma peeking at the gathered group around her newborn son under heavy lashes. "Must have skipped a generation… or three."

David scoffs and Hook's face is scrunched up, probably trying to recall exactly what genes were. Mary Margaret simply smiles down at her new grandson. Regina contemplates the future of the newest member of the Swan-Jones family. At least he has Henry.

"So have you decided what you're gonna name him?" Henry asks, stretching languidly on the bed. He presses a kiss on Emma's cheek and she smiles through a yawn.

"I think so," Emma replies and she meets Hook's eyes in confirmation. "You want to tell them?"

He nods and turns back toward the Royals and he stands straighter, shoulders back, chest up. Regina thinks he looks like a pigeon. "Liam David Jones."

"Swan-Jones!" Emma yells and Hook rolls his eyes.

"Right. Swan-Jones."

Regina attempts to stifle a snicker and is interrupted by David's poor attempts to hide tears. This family is ridiculous.

"I-I'm honored," David stutters and Mary Margaret rubs his shoulder tenderly. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Dave," Hook says sincerely. "We wanted to name them after the bravest men we know—knew."

The entire room becomes quiet and even Regina cannot find a single thing to say. She knows bits about Hook's life before he turned to a life of piracy but even she is knowledgeable of the great Liam Jones, renowned Captain of the _Jewel of the Realm_, a famous sailor she had heard of in her history lessons and someone her father had regarded as a great figure of leadership.

"Do you want to hold him?" she asks, offering up the child to his silent father.

The glittering enthusiasm in his eyes is gone and Regina watches in fascination as the lump in his throat bobbles up and down. She has seen him in impossible situations—facing her mother, Rumplestiltskin, Peter Pan, her cunning sister (may she rot in the deepest abyss of Hades' outhouse)—and still she has never seen him this terrified. As the famed Evil Queen and stunning sorceress, Regina has the skills of a ruthless predator, and the fear radiating off the pirate's body is almost tangible.

"Ah… I think I'll let the young lad sleep a bit more, eh?" He nods, setting the stuffed monkey (a monkey? Really?) down on the floor and the jello on the table, and walks to the other side of the bed, sitting down next to Emma who reaches out and grasps his hand.

Regina turns confused eyes to the Charmings who are politely looking away, pretending as if nothing has occurred. Typical.

Mary Margaret, of course, is the first to give up and she sighs audibly, pursing her small lips and forcing a bright smile on Regina. "He needs time," she whispers. Then her smile turns genuine. "He'll come around." And then she returns her full attention on little Liam.

Despite devoting years of manipulating those around her, Regina knows that she is not always adept at reading people. It is a flaw she has worked tirelessly to correct but there are times when she suddenly gets startling moments of illumination. In that moment, she finally understands what draws the Savior and the formerly dreaded pirate captain to each other.

Regina looks down to see two perfectly blue eyes staring back at her and smiles.

* * *

"Hey," Emma says, squeezing his hand. "Don't be afraid."

Killian closes his eyes, chest heaving as he tries to calm his racing heart. "I don't know if I can do this, Swan. I thought I could. I have wanted this more than anything, you know this." He breathes in, letting the cool air burn into his lungs.

"I do." The pad of her thumb strokes him gently.

"My father—" he rasps and his blood turns cold. Damn him. Damn that man. Even here, even now, he haunts him.

"Shh," Emma commands, placing a finger on his lips. "It doesn't matter. You have a new life now, Killian. You, me, Henry, Liam—we are going to start over together." He hears the strain in her voice. "Don't you think that I'm afraid, too? I may have Henry _now_ but that doesn't change the fact that he spent the first ten years of his life being raised by someone else. This is new to me, too, you know. This—this thing with your father, and my parents, and me and Henry—it won't make us bad parents." She entwines her fingers with his. "We'll learn together."

He is finally brave enough to look at her and see the sincerity in her words. "Okay."


	18. Never Have I Ever

**Never Have I Ever**

"Never have I had a one-night stand," David says gleefully and the entire table groans.

Emma laughs at Mary Margaret's stern expression as she dutifully hold out her glass for a refill. Killian eyes her and winks and she nearly chokes on her shot at David's scandalized expression.

"What?" she asks nonchalantly. "I was free-spirited."

"Honestly, Dave," Killian says, eyes glazed. "You're missing out."

Emma nods and then notices that Ruby's glass is mysteriously full. Leroy takes the opportunity to point this out and the entire table sits in rapt attention.

"Okay, so despite my colorful reputation," Ruby begins, picking at the ends of her napkin. "I always give it a few dates before I try the goods and I always take a second drive because what if the first time we were both off, you know?"

Emma watches her father, eyes wide in disbelief. Killian is shrugging as if the explanation made perfect sense and Leroy eyes Ruby as if she were lying or insane. Or both.

"Anyway," Mary Margaret begins, glaring once more at David (who smiles) before primly placing her hands on the table. "It's your turn, Hook."

Killian grins and then looks right at Emma. "Never have I almost been engaged to a hirsute simian." And then he and David laugh as if it were the funniest thing in the world.

Emma kicks both of them under the table ("Ouch, Swan! It was a joke!") and then pours herself a shot and drinks. It is her seventh one but she is still coherent. Mostly. He'll pay for that little "joke" later tonight…

It's Mary Margaret's turn and Emma knows that it's going to another passive-aggressive declaration by the tightening of her eyebrows. "Never have I gone back in time and gotten _married_ without anyone being there to know. Especially my _parents_…"

"Now, Snow, this isn't the time—"

"I don't care, David! "

"Mary Margaret—"

"No, Emma. That is how I feel and since everyone is getting things off their chests to tonight, then there is my bit." She crosses her arms expectantly.

Emma sighs, pours herself and Killian a shot and they both down them guiltily. There will be a talk later—soon—and right now she is too buzzed to figure out if she's dreading it or nauseated from the alcohol. It wasn't like they were truly married anyway. They just happened to exchange vows as they watched Lancelot marry her parents. Who knew it would mean more?

"Wait, what?" Ruby asks, hands up in a placating gesture. She waves them at Emma and Killian. "You two are _married_?"

"Not really—"

"I beg to differ, Swan."

"Technically," she cuts in, glaring daggers at her 'husband.' "We aren't. There were no witnesses."

This seems to placate Mary Margaret but Killian sits in his seat fuming. Payback came sooner than she thought, Emma thinks.

"Huh," Leroy says, and takes a heavy drink from his beer. The alcohol doesn't seem to affect him at all.

"Hmm," Ruby hums, and she rubs her arms nervously.

"Is something wrong, Ruby?" Mary Margaret asks, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "You've been rather quiet this evening."

Emma blinks and realizes that it's true. Absent have been the werewolf's usual quips and innuendos and she didn't even laugh at Killian and Leroy's vulgar comments earlier. She is about to ask if she senses something amiss when Ruby suddenly slaps her hands on the table.

"I'm late!" she shouts and a few other patrons turn around and stare at them.

"Late?" Mary Margaret asks, frowning, and then her eyes light up in excitement. "Oh my god! You're late!"

"Yes," Ruby replies, and her eyes glitter with unshed tears. "Maybe it's the whole werewolf thing but I can feel her forming and she's such a curious thing! She likes the sounds of your voices. I can feel her joy." She is openly crying now and Mary Margaret gathers her into a hug.

Emma looks around at her companions and wonders just when the hell her life got so weird. She wants to say that it was the day Henry came knocking at her apartment door, but she can think of instances from before that may rival this. She turns to see Killian watching her with soft eyes and her cheeks heat up and a nervous thrill shoots through her stomach.

"Wait, if you're pregnant," David says, voice worried. "Then why are you drinking? You know that's not good for the baby, right?"

"Oh, this is apple juice," Ruby replies, clutching the bottle she had been using for herself exclusively. She puts under Leroy's nose who takes a whiff and confirms it's true. "I didn't want to feel left out."

Killian whistles slowly and raises his eyebrows at Emma. "Well, then."

Emma shakes her head and shrugs.

"My turn!" Leroy yells. He pours a drink for Ruby. "Never have I been knocked up by Dr. Frankenstein!"

"Here, here!" David says, and takes a shot anyway.

There are murmurs of consent from surrounding tables and suddenly the entire bar is filled with glasses in the air.

"Screw it! I'll drink to that!"

"Cheers!"

"I wish I could say I didn't see that coming but nah!"

"To the Doctor and the Werewolf!"

Everyone takes a drink.


	19. Falling Into a Compromising Position

**Trope #3: Falling Into a Compromising Position**

"Okay, repeat that last part." There is a loud snicker and a poor attempt to stifle a snort. "You were ducking from a horde of pixies—"

"Abhorrent creatures from the deepest abyss of the seventh circle of hell."

"Uh, yeah. Wait—what? You've read the _Divine Comedy_?"

"The what?"

"You said 'seventh circle of hell.' That's one of the circles of hell in Dante's _Inferno_."

"Swan, I have no conceivable idea of what you speak. It is a commonly known concept that the rule of Hades spans nine—"

"As interesting as this conversation is," David interrupts again, face scrunched in frustration and poorly concealed laughter. "Do either of you have any idea how to—" He gestures awkwardly at their positions. "—undo whatever this is."

Emma looks back to glare at David—or she would, if her hands and knees weren't stuck into the ground which is covered by a milky white substance. "If I knew, we would have been out of this a long time ago!"

"Honestly, mate," Hook says from behind her, rolling his shoulders back to try and work out the tension. "We have tried everything—"

David bursts out laughing. Emma grumbles incoherently.

"Ah, poor choice of words," Hook concedes, offering an apologetic face to Emma who is red to the collar of her shirt. "But you are well aware the power of pixie dust and I fear that Swan's magic was simply… not enough in this instance." He shrugs (or tries to).

There are tears running from the corners of David's eyes but after a minute of deep breathing, his face has returned to its natural color and he takes the regal stance of the king that he is. He clears his throat. "I called Regina and she is on her way. I'm sure with she has some anti-pixie magic spell or something in her vault."

"She better," Emma grits. Her knees are aching and her arms have begun to shake from holding her weight for almost an hour and she prays to any deity above that Regina comes soon before any other residents of Storybrooke come venturing into the woods…

"Well, well," a snide voice says from afar. Emma instantly regrets wanting Regina here and wishes the substance would swallow her up and spare here the indignity of the situation. "I would say I was surprised but knowing both of your reputations, I should have seen this coming."

Emma wants to die because if there is anything worse than your father heeding your call and finding you and your boyfriend stuck to the ground with his face conveniently planted against your ass, then it is the former Evil Queen who finds absolute joy in your torment.

"I believe I saw this movie," Regina says evenly, as if she were reciting the weather forecast. "Henry wanted to watch it and I previewed it and then forbade him from ever mentioning it again."

David is bent at the waist now, loud bellows echoing through the trees and Emma plans a suitable revenge for her father. As soon as Regina gets them out of this.

Soon. Very soon.

"Regina, is there anything you can do?" Hook asks, his chin digging into her tailbone.

Emma doesn't need to turn around to hear the smile in her voice. "Unfortunately, the counter-spell takes a few hours to brew. Pixie dust is _very_ powerful, Miss Swan, and when you incur the wrath of the pixies, it can crystallize an entire person for eternity. You are very lucky I am an ardent student of magic. You should be thankful."

Emma counts to ten in her head. "Thank you," she says with utmost sincerity she does not feel.

"You're welcome," Regina replies. She turns away, smirking wickedly. "Although, I'm sure our dear pirate will be very disappointed that I will have to end your new _acquaintance _so soon. I do apologize for that, Captain."

"You are the true spirit of contrition, Regina," Hook replies sarcastically.

Emma decides to include Regina in her plans for revenge (something petty and childish, like a laughing spell whenever she is intimate with Robin).

"So," David says, and Emma hears the faint click of his phone snap a picture. "Do you two need a pillow or anything? I'm sure that after a while this gets uncomfortable. Not that I'm knowledgeable in these things."

Both Emma and Hook glare daggers at him.

"Hey, I'm not judging!"


	20. Falling Into Place: Part One

**Falling Into Place: Part One**

As the alarm blares and she reaches out to turn it off blindly, she recalls that's it's Saturday, Date Night, and that Henry should be at the museum in less than two hours.

She blinks, staring blankly at the ceiling. She feels… content, there really is no other word to describe it. It's not an ecstatic feeling full of relief, like when she put the down payment for the loft, or a crushing despair, like when Henry turned away, excited with wide hazel eyes, walking into the classroom on the first day of school and proceeding to be the only child not to cry for their parent. It's a lack of both and perhaps that's good. Perhaps it's not. Either way, she feels… content.

It's 8:15 and she realizes she must have hit the snooze button at least five times when the ceiling shifts.

No, it's moving… _swirling_… and now she's panicking, trying to recall if this is some lingering side effect of the antibiotic she finished three days ago. Either that or she is still dreaming and she is too shocked to move when the swirling deepens and turns _green_ and suddenly there is a fucking tunnel forming in her ceiling and the scream gets stuck in her throat as a large, dark blob falls through.

It lands roughly on her bed and this time she does scream and curses whatever deity there is above that Henry unfortunately sleeps like the dead and now an alien or monster from another universe is tangled in her new sheets.

The thing groans and she is trying vainly to untangle herself from her bedspread, thinking frantically where she left her gun, when it looks up and startled blue eyes stare into her own.

"Swan. At last."

Emma stops breathing and her mouth falls open, another scream caught somewhere in her chest.

It's a man, or more accurately, a very handsome man dressed in some kind of fantasy novelist's wet dream of leather and buckles, hair in complete disarray, and now he is smiling, like she has been hung among the stars and it freaks her out. There is a movie, she thinks, of some being from another world that falls through a portal and she wonders if she should call the NSA or something. Or shoot it, just in case.

He reaches out to her and she pushes him away, leaning as far away from his as she can. She feels the edge of her nightstand at her back and she puts a hand behind her.

"Do I know you?" She manages to stutter, mentally smacking herself. Who cares who this thing—person is!

His expression falls, but only slightly and then his face turns serious. His mouth opens as if to speak again and then he frowns, looking down. He seems to finally realize that he's on a bed and his cheeks become a startling shade of red.

"I-It worked," he whispers. He looks at her again. "Very well, it seems."

Emma frowns at him and he takes a loud, deep breath.

"Look," he says, voice now desperate. "I need your help. Something's happened, something terrible. Your family is in trouble."

"My family's right here," she answers automatically.

Emma doesn't know what the hell he is talking about but she takes note of his accent. He sounds… British? English? Is there a difference? Henry likes to watch some show about a man who uses a telephone booth to travel through time or something. Emma wonders if some stories are based on reality because she is sure he just fell through her ceiling. Or she's still dreaming.

"Who are you?" She asks again. Her fingers stretch out and she feels the cool metal of the grip of her gun.

"An old friend," he replies sincerely.

Emma swallows, chasing away the sorrow that she feels at the sadness in his tone.

"I know you can't remember me." He pauses, searching her face, as if the answers to the universe were held in its depths. "But I can make you."

And then he is in front of her, with the reflexes and graces of a predator and he places a gentle hand to her cheek and brings her lips to his.

Her hand slackens and for one terrifying moment she closes her eyes, heart fluttering in her chest. Muscle memory, her mind wildly thinks and then she remembers that he is a complete stranger and this time, she pushes him hard enough to knock him off the bed.

"What the hell are you doing?!" She gasps, and she turns around briefly to reach for her gun and point it directly at his head.

"Long shot," he replies, voice strained and pained. He doesn't seem bothered at all that she could kill him at any moment. "I had to try. I was hoping you felt as I did."

"All you're gonna feel is the bullet through your brain if you don't get the hell out of my apartment!"

He raises his hands, like trying to placate a wild animal and he hesitantly steps closer to her. "Look, I know this seems crazy, but you have to listen to me."

Emma doesn't know if it's his pleads that she knows speak truths (he may not be completely crazy, and if he is then she is, too, because she literally saw him come from nowhere), or his eyes that beg her to believe in what she has seen, or the tug in her stomach that tells her to be rational—even in irrational situations—but she lowers her weapon slowly, knowing that perhaps she is going to regret this.

"Okay," Emma says as calm as she can, trying to keep from trembling. Some distant, hidden voice whispers for her to trust him. "Tell me how you fell from my ceiling."


	21. Red Velvet Cupcakes

**Prompt: Red Velvet Cupcakes**

Granny is the one that discovers that Killian has a rather strange talent: he has the ability to be good at practically anything he puts his interest in. This manifests in Killian performing odd jobs around the town and becoming remarkably adept with technology. This also means that Killian —having spent centuries as a captain on a boat full of men—is quite the proficient cook.

This irks Emma—_a lot_—because despite her knack for making exquisite scrambled eggs, her best friend in the kitchen is actually the microwave, not the stove, and when David and Mary Margaret decide to move to a tiny cottage on the outskirts of Storybrooke with Baby Charming, Emma asks Killian to move in.

Having spent most of his life on the sea, Killian wakes at the crack of dawn everyday, to the chagrin of Emma Swan, and by the time she is swatting blindly at her alarm clock, the gentle wafts of cinnamon and baked ("Baked? Are you kidding me!") bread fill her nostrils.

She enters the kitchen twenty minutes later, semi-coherent after a quick shower and half-dressed, and she sees Killian leaning against the isle, mug of coffee (he insists on black because the town lacks pure cane sugar and that is blasphemous to the pirate) cradled in his hand and a look of troubled contemplation on his face. This surprises Emma because he usually has an annoying grin on his face every morning, as if the sight of the rising sun is a miracle to be witnessed daily.

"What's wrong?" she asks, question strange on her tongue. It feels like she's reciting _his_ lines.

He scratches behind his ear in that adorable yet slightly odd way of his when he's nervous or bashful. Or being obnoxious. He does it all the time, in fact, now that she thinks about it.

"Eh… nothing is really wrong," he replies, voice smooth and sending shivers down her spine. (She really needs to learn to control that.)_  
_

"Okay," she says, confused because what kind of answer is that? She is in desperate need of coffee if she is getting irritated this easily. "Then what is it?"

He hums, tapping his fingers on the mug and then turns to set it on the counter. With a few swift movements, he grabs the two plates of eggs, bacon and buttered rolls he has already prepared and balances them deftly on one hand. She rolls her eyes.

"I was wondering," he begins, setting the food on the small table and settling stiffly on a chair. "The wolf girl, the one that dresses more obscenely than tavern wenches on the Isle of Sappho?"

"Ruby?"

"Ah, yes, her. She's not just a shape-shifter but an actual werewolf, correct?"

Emma narrows her eyes. "Yes. I'm not very knowledgeable about how all that works but I've heard her call herself that."

Killian shuffles in his seat and then stands abruptly, digging around his pocket (he still insists on wearing leather but _thankfully_ she has managed to convince him to wear jeans) until he pulls out his cell phone (that is newer than _hers_). He fiddles around with the screen and walks closer to him so she can peek around his shoulder. He is sliding through his photo albums until he settles on picture, slightly blurred, of a tray full of cupcakes on what she thinks is Granny's counter at the diner. She frowns.

"Werewolves can find mates and turn them into one," he continues, turning the phone so that she can see better. "But most of them get it through inheritance. That Granny is quite good with the crossbow. Amazing instincts. Remember when she smelled us—"

"I remember," Emma snaps, flushing at the memory.

Killian smirks, no doubt remembering their heated encounter, and then turns somber again. "She, too, is a werewolf. Or was one, at least."

"Uh…" she mutters because in truth, she doesn't really know. She vaguely recalls reading something about her mother and Ruby in Henry's book. "Probably. I guess. But… why does it matter? You have something against werewolves, now?"

"They like _meat_," Killian says, tone absolutely serious. "And the smell of _blood_." He gestures at the picture on his phone with his chin.

Emma tries—she really does try—but after nearly thirty seconds of holding her breath, she relents and let's out a loud snort that turns into raucous laughter that has her holding her aching ribs.

Killian looks absolutely scandalized and is looking at her as if she were insane. "Swan, this is no laughing matter!"

Somehow, this has her laughing harder and minutes pass before she manages to breath evenly again. She wipes at the tears running down her face and she looks at her boyfriend's confused face.

"Killian," she says, grabbing his phone and pointing at the sugary confectionries. "Those are red velvet cupcakes."

"Interesting moniker. But I believe _bloody_ cakes would be more apt!"

Emma smacks the phone against her forehead and groans.


	22. Falling Into Place: Part Two

**Falling Into Place: Part Two**

Emma is quiet, brow furrowed in the way he knows that she does when she is angry or confused or feeling completely helpless and he wants to reach out and smooth out the dark lines, drive them away so that they never mar her perfect skin again.

Her fingers grip her mug with trembling strength, studying it's empty contents and he remembers how she magicked it away once, when her face was still free and full of joy and he berates himself for ruining her moment with the melancholy of his mistakes and suddenly he is angry. Angry at himself. Angry for not trying to dissuade her harder. Angry for even thinking that she may have done the wrong thing. But most of all he is angry at the Queen, whose sins follow them through time and across realms and he curses his simple mortal skills, knowing they would never compare to a woman who has been trained in the arts of magic by the Dark One himself.

It doesn't seem enough, he thinks, that the Queen suffers from heartache once again, as if she knew what true despair was. And she does, from what Emma has told him of Regina's past, and he wonders if that is what he would have become, once (if) he had skinned his crocodile, guileless and without mercy, and suddenly Milah's face is a sting in his chest, when it had already transformed into a distant, healing memory.

He didn't become her, wouldn't sacrifice everyone and everything when it came time to choose… But it terrifies him that for a period of suspended time on an island of horrors where he did sacrifice many lives of his crew to survive, he would have.

He feels like he's being watched, and he feels the flush of embarrassment rise in his cheeks when he sees Emma observing him with sparkling eyes for it is rare, oh very rare, for one to catch him off guard. Except for Emma, it seems.

"Killian, what's wrong?"

He would be lying if he denied that the sound of his true name from her lips sent a thrill through his body—shooting straight to his stomach, fluttering like manic pixies in a feeding frenzy and it's almost pathetic how much she makes him feel like a blundering schoolboy.

"Nothing, love," Killian replies stupidly, as if he weren't transparent to her at all.

The smirk is on her lips before he even finishes replying and suddenly he doesn't feel foolish at all. His white lies plant the air, blossoming into her small smiles and it is so, so worth the humiliation.

"Liar," she says like an epithet. Like it will be inscribed on his tombstone.

"Handsome liar," he counters, and she rolls her eyes.

"Seriously? Is there anyone that loves you more than yourself?"

"There might be," he replies with a pointed look.

She scoffs, nudging his knee with hers.

Killian likes this, the calm atmosphere of a diner late at night with few patrons, and the pitter patter of rain against the window. It's soothing, like the gentle sways of the Jolly Roger on smooth waters and he thinks that he could live like this maybe. Perhaps.

Emma is quiet again but her shoulders are relaxed and her head cocked to the side (like her mother) and this means that she is in deep contemplation.

"It was fun, wasn't it?" She asks, the side of her mouth quirked.

"What was?"

Emma straightens in her seat and he just knows what's going to come next. "Why our little adventure." She states with a tinge of excitement. "It was like you said: 'We make quite the team.'"

She says the last part in a terrible impression of his accent and then she is giggling and his heart swells and so he joins her, his own deep chuckles earning them a few wide-eyed stares from the patrons.

"Aye, we are," he says, breathless from laughter. And it is in this blissful moment of brief euphoria that she goes for the kill.

"What were you thinking of when you landed on my bed?" she asks, voice neutral and so casual that she might as well have been discussing the decorations.

He chokes… on absolutely nothing and her smile is absolutely Regina-evil.

"I—" he sputters, thinking quickly, eyes frantically searching the diner for a distraction, anything to avoid the topic Emma has intentionally brought up.

"We both know that magic beans transport you to the place you desire most, and you landed—quite literally and fantastically—on my bed," she says, eyebrow now raised in that way that he finds endearing."I found it quite interesting, you know. But I suppose the portal caught me at a bad moment, seeing as I was still asleep and all."

Killian can only stare at her. He has lost the ability to speak, for in the middle of her little speech, Emma has quite deliberately placed her hand on his thigh.

"And I was wondering… What was it, Killian? What did you desire most when you used the bean?"

Her thumb is rubbing circles on his leg and he praises and curses his poor (wonderful) choice of using thin leather for his trousers.

"I desired to see you," he says, or chokes out. He isn't too sure. He doesn't even remember that there are other people in the small establishment, nor does he care, because Emma Swan—Savior and love of his life—is groping him under the table and most of the dwarves and a werewolf are less than twenty feet away.

"So you didn't desire me?" she asks innocently, perfect pink lips formed into a pout.

"I—" he stutters again, and then that glorious, wonderful feel of her hand is gone, and she is now fiddling her her coffee mug, face pleasant and serene as she studies him carefully.

For a terribly long moment, he is confused, frightened that perhaps he said the wrong thing (or didn't say), but then he sees the true question in her glittering, green eyes.

"Killian?" she asks tentatively, as if afraid to break the silence.

"Yes, Emma, I desired you. I desire you now. I desire you in all ways that a man in love can," he replies earnestly.

He barely has time to do anything, much less breathe, before she is smiling like the dawn and her small hand is in his, and then he is tumbling, body stretching or tearing apart in a thick darkness… and then he is falling and falling until he feels the hard press of a mattress against his back, and a soft, lithe body falling on his, expelling the breath from his lungs.

"What the bloody hell just happened?!" He manages to say through a budding sense of dizziness and nausea. He tries to lift his head, but it drops weakly against the pillow.

Emma—eyes wide in joy and disbelief—stares back at him. "Oh my god, it worked!"

"What worked?"

She rearranges herself so that she is pressed into his side and not his stomach and she grins happily. "Remember how Regina was teaching me magic a while back? Well, we also practiced some teleportation—you know, like with the coffee cup that one day. But it didn't really work, and Regina would just teleport me around… but I got a sense of how it worked." She pauses, biting her lip. "She said that magic is about feeling and I dunno, I was really… content back at the diner and I just wanted to see if it worked."

He raises an inquisitive eyebrow. "And so you decided to test it on me?"

She shrugs. "It worked."

Killian's mouth flaps open and closed like a fish and he concedes that perhaps it will always be like this with Emma: she doing the unbelievable and he having the faith that she can do anything.

"Plus," she says slowly, and she rubs her hand up his chest and he once again forgets to breathe. "I wanted to be alone with you and do the time-honored tradition that all teenagers must perform at least once in their lifetimes: sneaking a boy into your room while your parents are down the hall."

He swallows thickly. "Emma, I don't think—"

"Hush," she says, pressing a finger to his lips. "You're only getting to second base tonight, buddy, so that means nothing below the waist."

Killian has no clue what that means but he thinks he gets the idea. "All right," he says.

Emma nods and presses a gentle kiss on his cheek. "Thank you for finding me."

"It was nothing, really," he replies hoarsely. Her hands snake themselves around his neck.

"It meant something to me," she counters smoothly.

"Aye," he mumbles and then her mouth is on his.


End file.
